


Blurred

by AlicienneOfTarth



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brienne is a Sagittarius, Christmas Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, POV Alternating, Photography, Romance, Ugly Sweaters, kind of, professor jaime, street art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28409694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlicienneOfTarth/pseuds/AlicienneOfTarth
Summary: She turned toward him and he felt the force of her eyes on him, compelling him to look up. He did, no real choice there, and for a moment he forgot what he wanted to tell her.Fuck those eyes, he had been obsessed with them the moment she had entered in his classroom, wearing one of her stupid Polka dot sweater, standing like a proud warrior and blushing ridiculously at the same time, an incoherent, lethal mix that he couldn’t even explain. Every time he closed his eyes, lately, all he could see was that blue and he fell asleep trying to find the right nuance in the colour spectrum.He cleared his throat. “You forgot your assignment.”
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 69
Kudos: 194
Collections: JB Festive Festival Exchange 2020





	Blurred

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wildlingoftarth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildlingoftarth/gifts).



> Hi everybody,  
> The lovely Wildling asked for: Art AU, Enemies to Lovers and linked a song called "Green eyes" by Joseph.  
> I tried to put all these prompts in this story, more or less, I hope you won't be disappointed!  
> And I hope that you all will like this and that it will bring a smile on your faces. I wish you a happy new year, we almost made it.  
> English is not my first language and I'm still without a Beta(write me if you want to help a desperate girl). The mistakes are all mine, but I tried my best, as always.  
> This will be the last story I post this year, so I want to say thank you to all the authors that made this place my safe harbour, gifting us with wonderful stories, thank you for your amazing talent. Thanks also to all of you for reading my stories and for dealing with my insecurieties(and my English!!), and finally thanks to my Twitter friends that always support me.  
> I don't know anything about Photography, but I really like it. I took inspirations from Alex Webb and Rebecca Norris Webb's quotes/ interviews, a couple of street photographers I love.  
> The picture below has been taken by Rebecca Norris Webb and it's called: "Shimmering".  
> Enjoy the reading!

  
  


_We could both play the pretender_

_Circling round this parking lot_

_While one of us still remembers_

_We're lucky to have what we've got._

  


  


He covered his mouth and nose with a scarf, tying it around his neck, then he pulled up the hood of his sweater, sheltering from the light rain and trying to avoid unwanted attentions. It was rainy season in King’s Landing, the sky darkened sooner and the air constantly smelled of wet asphalt and fog.

He liked the city those days, empty and silent, it was like a soft blanket, covering him from the world, but leaving him cold in his bones nonetheless.

Besides, a great city could be a frightening place for one’s solitude, he knew that well enough.

The parking lot was empty too, except for an old street light that kept flickering intermittently and his car, but he still looked around to see if someone was following him; he turned the corner, pace fast and firm, and went down, until he stopped in front of an overpass.

There, under the dark curve, there was a blank wall.

_Immaculate canvas._

____

He took a petrol blue spray can from his backpack and started drawing.

__

__

* * *

__

__

Brienne Tarth hated her photography teacher Jaime Lannister.

__

Ok, maybe "hate" was a strong word, she didn’t like him, though; she didn’t like that smug smile every time she tried answering one of his questions, the way his damn green eyes darkened briefly before eyeing her from head to toes when she stood up to present him an assignment and she couldn’t stand the way he fixed his glasses when he looked down at said assignment, already frowning in advance, already judging it. The first time he had asked the class a technical question, expecting no answer, doubtless, she had raised her hand, trying to hide her satisfaction, a small smile on her lips. He had ignored her until, lesson over, he had walked toward her, amused eyes and feline stride, telling her: “we’re not in High School anymore, Miss Tarth, you don’t need to raise your hand before speaking. Is the message clear or do you want me to stick a note in your locker?”

__

So yes, she hated Jaime Lannister.

__

He had also made a habit of calling her using a stupid nickname.

__

It had all started the morning when she had presented him her portfolio in person. She had been ridiculously nervous back then, the palms of her hands ridiculously sweaty. He hadn’t said a word during the whole examination, only deep scowls and sighs, until he had blurted out: “You’re quite obsessed with the Motion blur, aren’t you?”

__

Which in facts was true, all the pictures she had presented in her portfolio had a blurred component, Brienne liked to think that was her distinctive feature. 

__

“I like blurred subjects,” she answered, proudly.

__

“Why?”

__

“Well, I think we are all unable to see clearly or be seen clearly.. in most cases anyway.”

__

He had been quiet after that, unusual for him, but from that day he had started calling her: _Blur._

__

That irritated her, with no limits.

__

When she had graduated in Fine arts in Winterfell the year before, her mentor, Catelyn Stark, had recommended her a Master in photography, supporting Brienne’s true passion. King’s Landing Institute of photography was the most valued school in all Westeros, if not the most expensive, reason why she couldn’t believe her eyes when the admission letter came. Not only she had been admitted, but she had also won a scholarship that would have covered for the whole Master. She moved in the city without even thinking, there was no one she was leaving behind in Winterfell, nothing memorable, except mockeries and unlucky relationships, her house contract would have expired soon and she had never backed away from a new adventure.

__

It worked like this, students were assigned by the first letter of their surnames, from A to M with Professor Tully, Catelyn’s brother, from N to Z with the infamous Professor Lannister, fashion photographer, undeniable talent, but mostly known for his rude manners and sarcastic remarks. Brienne had been thrilled to work with Edmure Tully, Catelyn had told her wonderful stories about him and his adventures as a reporter around the world, so she had tried to email Lannister asking him to change class and go with Tully, due to inexistent work commitments.

__

Jaime Lannister had answered five minutes later telling her to grow up and that he didn’t encourage this kind of whims.

__

So, yeah, they hadn’t started in the best possible way.

__

“Professor Lannister?” she called him, stepping in the empty class.

__

He lifted his gaze, a flicker of surprise fast replaced by a frown. Typical. “The lesson is over, Miss Tarth.”

__

Brienne repressed a sigh of impatience. “Yeah, I heard the bell ringing, I just.. I wanted to present you my assignment.”

__

“The deadline is tomorrow.”

__

“I’m aware of that,” she said, walking toward his desk. “But I’ve already finished it and I’m quite proud with the result, so why waste another day?”

__

He raised an eyebrow in his insufferable way. “Quite proud?

__

She ignored his answer, handing him the photograph instead. He took it from her, their fingers brushing, it happened quite often lately and she ignored it every single time. She swallowed, lowering her eyes. Sometimes she tried to forget the fact that Jaime Lannister was the most handsome man she had ever met, but his gold locks, green eyes and sculpted cheekbones were hard to miss. He pressed the bridge of his glasses, looking down at her picture and for a moment she could almost discern a brief hint of admiration fast replaced by his usual, already familiar, frown.

__

Then he looked at her.

__

“What is this?”

__

“My assignment, Professor Lannister.”

__

He sighed. “Yes, I can see that,” he said tiredly. “But what do you want to tell me with this? What are the subjects of your photo?”

__

“These kids,” she said. “I thought it was pretty clear.”

__

“Crystal,” he whispered and she instantly hated the sarcastic remark. “It’s not about these kids here, this is you.”

__

“Me?” she asked him tentatively. “I.. I don’t know, this isn’t about me, I just.. I thought it was a good photo, I mean, the way the light catches the puddle is quite beautiful and the kids-”

__

“Quite beautiful?”

__

She nodded, worrying at her lip. “Interesting,” he said with a tone that suggested the opposite. “So tell me, Blur, what is beauty?”

__

Here it was that stupid nickname.

__

“My name’s not Blur.”

__

“Yes, whatever, so what is beauty?”

__

_Something that doesn’t belong to me._ “It can be many things,” she said instead.

__

“True. How do we recognize it?”

__

“I.. I don’t know,” she said. “Look, I was just trying to do my assignment right.”

__

“Right, right.. I don’t care about right, I don’t care about the light hitting your pretty water pool, I want something out of order, something extraordinary, something uncanny.”

__

“Uncanny?”

__

“Yes, uncanny. Something terrifying, something that shocks me. That’s the point of what we’re doing here, every picture you present is about you, you need to show me a part of you, but it needs to be authentic, terrifying or repulsive and yes, even uncanny. I don’t care about pretty puddles. Shock me,” he said, throwing the assignment on his desk. “This is boring.”

__

"Boring?”

__

“Next time use all the time you have.”

__

“But Professor..”

__

“You can leave now.”

  


_Terrifying, repulsive and uncanny._

__

Brienne wasn’t beautiful and beauty had never belonged to her. She was extraordinary tall, her shoulders too broad, her face a mess of flaws: a crooked nose, lips full, eyes too blue. Yes, sometimes even her eyes seemed too much for her face, like a final cruel joke to make her features appear even more wrong. So imagine pretty, perfect Jaime Lannister asking her about the meaning of beauty, asking her to give him a part of her that would have shocked him.

__

She was made of scars, visible or not, a look in her face and he would have found what he was looking for, no photographs and captions needed. She had spent half of her life trying to deal with her aspect and sometimes, when she still accelerated her steps, afraid to look at her reflection in a shop window, she knew that her demons were still there.

__

Anger was speding up her steps when she left her condo that late afternoon, walking toward the pedestrian street. Hood on her head, scarf up touching her nose, she reached the old overpass behind the abandoned parking lot. Her feet suddenly came to a stop when she saw a portion of the wall already painted. Blue waves covered the left section and there was a small signature at the bottom, _Gold._

_Gold?_

  


Street art was her favourite pastime; Brienne loved spending hours losing herself in the hidden possibilities behind those colors, in the smell of paint and the excitement of being a little reckless. She had spotted that corner some days before, during one of her jogging morning, and it had seemed a perfect place for her next mural, but apparently this Gold had decided to occupy the left portion, ruining her plans. She couldn’t help but take a look at the drawing, mesmerized by the clean lines of the waves, admiring all the shades that this Gold had created. This artist was definitely talented, there was a charming restlessness in that style that was addicting and at first she couldn’t look away. After some seconds of contemplation, she walked toward the right section, took a spray can from her bag and started drawing.

__

__

* * *

__

__

“Lesson is almost over, put your assignments on my desk before leaving,” Jaime said, scanning the classroom absently.

__

That week the assignment’s theme was: self-portrait. He had asked his students a portray of themselves that would have showed a peculiar personality trait. Jaime remembered doing the same assignment years ago, when he was only a student. He had posed with a piece of glass in front of his eyes so that his hand holding the camera would have been reflected into it. His Professor, Mister Dayne, had said his picture was a pathetic and banal attempt of being original. Jaime had been angry then, yelling at him and gaining a week of suspension for his behavior.

__

Now, he would have probably been ashamed of his own picture.

__

Jaime loved teaching, his general, insufferable attitude toward his job was only a cover, a secure way to restrain himself and hide how much he believed in what he was doing, without risking a sharp disappointment. He loved giving a taste of his experience and passion, to help someone else turning said passion in a steady job. He loved teaching, especially when real talent knocked at his door. He knew what people thought of him, his students especially, but he had always grown up with the conviction that living up to that imagine they had built around him was better than trying to give them the real one.

__

Easier at least.

__

The bell rang and everyone stood up, stopping by his desk to leave their assignments. Miss Tarth, speaking of real talent, was the last one standing up and he followed her steps out of the corner of his eye. He was surprised when she didn’t stop by his desk.

__

“Your assignment?” he said, not glancing up.

__

She turned toward him and he felt the force of her eyes on him, compelling him to look up. He did, no real choice there, and for a moment he forgot what he wanted to tell her. _Fuck those eyes_ , he had been obsessed with them the moment she had entered in his classroom, wearing one of her stupid Polka dot sweater, standing like a proud warrior and blushing ridiculously at the same time, an incoherent, lethal mix that he couldn’t even explain. Every time he closed his eyes, lately, all he could see was that blue and he fell asleep trying to find the right nuance in the colour spectrum. He cleared his throat. “You forgot your assignment.”

__

She started worrying her bottom lip in that way, half irritating half arousing, he hadn’t decided it yet. “I didn’t do it,” she answered at the end.

__

He couldn’t help but smile at her insolence, it really didn’t belong to her. He walked toward her, stopping when his arm brushed her own, her Polka dot sweater was even more ridiculous that close, she probably had a collection or something; then he took the folder that was resting firmly in her hands, giving her a final glance. “Close the door and come here.”

__

He waited for her with his back pressed against his desk, ankles crossed in front of him while she closed the door and started walking, stopping a few feet from him.

__

“So you didn’t do it,” he started, casually. “What is this then?”

__

She sighed, rolling her eyes.

“You’re too honourable and stuck to the rules to ditch an assignment, Blur, I’m not that stupid,” he said, before opening the folder.

“Wait!” she said, closing the distance between them. “Sorry.” she retreated immediately.

He swallowed imperceptibly, ignoring her proximity. “Why were you leaving without giving me this?”

“I hate this assignment.”

“Why?”

“I.. I hate self-portrait.”

“I don’t care.”

He saw her nostrils flaring briefly at his answer and God, he suddenly wanted to spend the afternoon irritating her. He opened the folder, ignoring her protests. It was a black and white picture, she posed with her hands on her eyes, but her face, unsurprisingly, was blurred. It wasn’t a bad picture, technically the light and the exposition were sublime, the Post- Production had been impeccable too, but something was missed. He knew she was talented and she owned a particular style, the way she played with the motion blur effect was remarkable, he had known it from the very first glimpse at her portfolio, reason why he had fought for her admission with the Rector, Doctor Tarly, when her letter came. Tarly didn’t like her peculiar approach to photography, but more than that, he was unsatisfied with her lack of experience, but Jaime, he had immediately seen something in her. 

“What does it mean?” he asked her, pointing at the photo.

“It means that I hate self-portrait,” she said in a whisper.

“Do you want to become a professional, Blur?” he asked her, suddenly annoyed.

“My name’s Brienne and yes, of course.”

“Then I don’t fucking care if you hate self-portrait, if I ask you a self-portrait, you give me a self-portrait.”

“But--”

“No “but”, you need to give me what I ask, give me what I want.” 

A vivid blush covered her neck and he looked away.

“I.. I don’t like to be the subject of my photos.. of any photos actually,” she said after some seconds of silence. “I want to photograph other people, not me.”

“Let’s see, how would you photograph me?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me the first time, how would you do it?”

She touched her neck, probably trying to cover her blush. “I- I don’t know.”

“How? Black and white? Eyes closed? Naked? Hands on my face? Blurred?”

The blush expanded on her cheeks then and he held back the urge to blurt out something else to intensify it.

“Not blurred,” she whispered. “You wouldn’t need that.”

He frowned. “What does it mean?”

“Nothing.”

He sighed.“You say you want to photograph people, Blur, but you’re showing a part of yourself every time you take a picture. You need to deal with it or you’ll never be a good one.”

“Maybe I’m not a good one.”

“Do you think that?”

“Maybe.”

“Yes, then maybe you’re right, maybe you’re not a good one.”

A hurt look crossed her face and for a brief moment he wished he could take his words back.

“Thank you for the lesson, Professor Lannister, inspiring as ever,” she said, walking toward the door.

“Brienne?”

She paused, turning her to meet his gaze. Her eyes were flaring, there was always a determination in them that made it impossible to look away.

“You don’t need it too.”

  


He didn’t know why he had told her that, fuck his bluntness and fuck his mouth that wasn’t able to stay closed for more than ten seconds. He was still thinking about their conversation when, that night, he turned the corner to reach the old overpass at the end of the pedestrian street. He stopped surprised, realizing that half of the wall, his wall, had been covered in gold flames. “What the fuck?” he said out loud. “Are you fucking kidding me? This is my wall.” He took a closer look at the drawing, there was a signature at the corner, _Blue._

_Blue?_

“Can’t believe it, my fucking wall.” God, he was furious with this Blue, that was one of the first rules between street artists, respect the spaces. “Fine, you asked for it.”

He took his blue spray can and started completing Blue’s drawing.

* * *

She started dreaming of Professor Lannister.

_Close the door and come here._

He had told her in the dream, and there wasn’t nothing strange or unusual at the beginning, except that once in front of him, he had been the first closing the distance between them and with slow and delicate movements he had stripped her naked, leading her to his chair. _Blur._ The nickname hadn’t bothered her in the dream and he had kept calling her like that, looking at her reverently, every inch of her body exposed under his gaze, but absurdly, she hadn’t felt the need to cover herself. Suddenly, after seconds of contemplation, he had knelt in front of her, giving her pleasure with his mouth. _Give me what I want._ He kept saying. _You don’t need it too._ She had come with her fingers buried in his hair, his tongue restless inside her.

  


It happens. She kept repeating to herself during her jogging that morning, Jaime Lannister was a handsome man and he also had a very irritant way to get under her skin, it wasn’t really surprising that her mind had come up with that scenario in her dreams, it was ok, absolutely understandable and it wasn’t like she had spent the last thirty minutes thinking about his professor’s mouth between her legs.

Things didn’t improve the next lesson, though. They possibly got worse.

Jaime Lannister was a passionate teacher, the way he got excited during a presentation, emphasizing his gesticulation, dark eyes and deep voice, was a vision, a true experience. That morning he was talking about street photography, projecting some pictures on the wall from his old computer at the corner of the classroom. Brienne sat at her desk, while he kept walking around the room, restlessly, distracting her.

“Street photography is exploration, it’s a discovery with the Camera with no preconception, nothing is set, it’s all veiled, secretive. A street photographer wanders, he or she doesn’t look for specific things, it’s the street talking, the street leading and you follow, you find out, you uncover until you fall for it.”

She was enthralled by the pictures on the wall, she had never seen them before and they were breathtaking, but his voice was like the song of the Sirens, deep, alluring and close, too close.

“Colours are the key. Personally? Colour-saturated locations are the best, but we live in a world of colour and it’s there for us to take it.” He said and she felt his presence behind her. “Colours and lights. Shooting under strong sunlight is my favourite thing in the world, it gives me the possibility to use shadows and silhouettes because while I’m exposing for the highlights, I have some elements thrown in deep shadows. It gives me a three-dimensional effect and it’s fucking beautiful.” One of his hand curled around the back of her chair. She stilled, feeling his knuckles against her. She stopped listening to him, the apparent insignificance of that contact seemed consuming her mind and while she tried to apply the lightest of pressures in response, a part of her wanted to fully lean on the back of her chair and trap his hand there.

“Use several plans, work with layers and play with them.”

She swallowed, he was still there, his hand kept caressing her back, sliding across the rim, back and forth. “But most of all, be patient, wait. Wait and persevere, nothing will probably happen the first day of exploration, neither the second, but then it will eventually come together in a magical unforgettable moment, like a climax, the apex of pleasure.”

She held her breath when she felt one of his fingertips on her spine, but thankfully the bell rang in that moment and he left his place behind her.

She stood up, awkwardly, feeling his gaze on her.

“You’re ok?”

She turned toward him. “I’m.. of course.”

“You seem.. flushed.”

There was something dangerously close to concern in his tone, but she didn’t miss the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Those pictures are amazing,” she blurted out.

He frowned, still looking at her.

“You made them, didn’t you?”

He chuckled. “Why, Blur? You seem quite surprised,” he said, approaching her.

“I didn’t know you were in street photography.. they’re so evocative, they’re magical, you should expose them, make an exhibition or something.”

He snorted. “One day, maybe.”

“You have to,” she said and she must have been too passionate, because he looked up at her, surprised. “I know you have an exhibition next week.. you should include them, they’re breathtaking.”

She wasn’t used to the way he was looking at her now, there was a new softness that betrayed the edges of his face, the sharpness in voice. “It’s not what people want to see about me.”

“And what do you want to see about you?”

“It sounds a bit hypocrite coming from you, doesn’t it?”

She hissed at that, glancing down, his previous attitude had fooled her for a moment. 

He clearly had noticed the change in her. “I.. I’m,” he tried to say something, but he seemed to be running out of words.

“I should go,” she said. “Think about it,” she couldn’t help but add.

Then she left the room.

  


She spent the day cleaning her small condo and trying to come up with an idea for the new assignment, while her thoughts, betraying her, kept coming back to their last encounter. There had been a moment in which a softness in his eyes, a turn in his voice had almost made her believe the distance between them wasn’t that impossible to fill.

It was like this between them, one step forward and two steps back.

Luckily it was a working night; Brienne worked in a small Bar next to her condo. The owner, Olenna Tyrell, was also her renter and she had been the one asking her if she needed a job to cover the rent. It was a quiet night, which was unusual, considering Christmas was around the corner and the festive air made people go out more, but it was raining hard outside which meant the Bar had been basically empty, with the only exception of a young couple that had left the place ten minutes before. Brienne was cleaning the counter when the midnight came. She was sitting on an old stool, glancing distractedly at the clock, when the little bell on the door rang, signalling a new costumer. She didn’t have the time to turn around and say that they were about to close when she realized Professor Lannister was at the door.

“Hi,” she stammered out, hating the way her heart had started thundering in her chest.

“Blur?”

She rolled her eyes. “Brienne.”

“Do you work here?”

She nodded, looking at everywhere except him.

He approached her at the counter, taking off the hood from his head, one hand trying to combe his hair, messed by the rain, and she had to look away. His clothes were wet and unusually informal for him, she felt the urge to ask him where he had been.

He sat next to her, leaving one stool empty between them, he was close, but somehow not close enough.

“Do you want anything, Professor Lannister?” she asked casually.

He snorted. “Jaime, please, we’re not at school.”

They weren’t indeed, It was the first time she shared a room with him outside the Institute and she felt intoxicated by his presence. She blushed while he looked at her and she finally found the insistence of his gaze again. She dismissed it, though, fixing absently her apron on her back. “A Whisky, please.”

She stood up, feeling her legs inexplicably weak, maybe she was the one needing that.

She rounded the counter to pour him the Whisky and then she resumed her place on the stool.

“What are you doing here?” she suddenly asked, looking at the mirror in front of them.

He shrugged. “I was just wandering outside when it started raining.”

“You don’t live nearby.”

He looked up, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “Why, Blur, are you interested in where I live?”

She felt her cheeks burning, but she didn’t look away. “Everybody knows you live in the centre.”

“And what else everybody knows about me?”

It was in that moment that Podrick, her co-worker, decided to come out from the kitchen, holding a cup cake in his hand with a little candle on top. When he started singing "happy birthday" to her, she wanted to disappear.

“Happy birthday, Bri,” he said, smiling and putting the cup cake in front of her. “Sorry, I thought the Bar was empty,” he whispered while hugging her.

“It’s your birthday?” Jaime asked her, but she ignored him, thanking Podrick instead. “Thanks Pod, you didn’t need to.”

“Oh it’s nothing, I wish I could stay more, but you know I have an exam tomorrow.. Hi Sir,” Podrick said politely, extending his hand. “Podrick.”

“Jaime,” he said. “Jaime Lannister.”

Podrick frowned. “Professor Jaime Lannister?”

“The asshole himself,” Jaime said, shaking his hand.

“You’re quite legendary out here,” Podrick laughed. “Bri, you lock up?”

“Yes, don’t worry, I’ll take care of this, you’ve already done too much, go rest,” she said, smiling.

Podrick greeted them a last time and then he left the Bar.

The air was thick with a strange tension, she didn’t even know why. She glanced briefly in the mirror, noticing that he was playing with the rim of his glass, head down like he was lost in concentration. He was the first breaking the silence, though. “Well, this is a memorable way to celebrate your birthday.”

Brienne snorted. “I’m not usually a party girl.”

“Of course you're not,” he said and it sounded almost sweet coming from him.

“This is the first birthday since my father died.” She said, her voice breaking toward the end and she regretted her words a second later. She heard him shifting on the stool and then he looked at her, tilting his face in her direction. She held his gaze while he pushed the glass of Whisky toward her on the counter.

She took a sip from his glass.

“I can’t remember last time I talked to mine,” he suddenly said.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Different views.”

She knew the safer thing was to end the conversation in that moment, but something made her ask for more. “Your job?”

“Mostly,” he replied immediately, like he was hoping and waiting for a word from her. “He didn’t really support my passion for photography, I was born with a foot in the family’s Company, so my future was already set and I tried to accept it, I really tried.. I studied economy for two years, but while I spent every morning in that University, I wandered every night, Camera in hand, for the streets of King’s Landing. It was addicting.”

“How did you end up working for magazines, then?”

He sighed. “It pissed off my father more.”

“This doesn’t seem a valid reason.”

He tilted his face, looking at her. “I guess it doesn’t.”

“You should do what makes you feel good, do what you really like, come back into street photography.”

He smiled. “You really liked those pictures, didn’t you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

He laughed, surprising her. There were some wrinkles at the corner of his eyes when he laughed, she noticed them for the first time and suddenly she wanted to see them again.

“You seem different here,” she said.

“Different how?”

“Better.”

He laughed again. “Must be the company improving me.”

She was strangely affected by his words, flushing shyly, even if she didn’t think it was her company making him better. She suspected there was a kindness in him that sometimes could break the surface of his facade, making it crumble.

She was lost in thoughts when he took back the glass from her fingers, finishing the Whisky.

“How many?” he asked her softly.

“26.”

“Interesting, you’re old Blur,” he said.

“I believe you’re older.”

He chuckled. “We should do something to celebrate.”

“That is not necessary,” she blushed. “I’ve never celebrated it, really.”

“Let’s dance.”

“What?”

“Dance, you and me.. we should.”

“With you?” she asked alarmed. “No.”

“Oh come on, you can keep hating me and I can keep being insufferable with you in a day or two.”

“You’re my Professor.”

“Not in here.” He stood up. “Pick a song, Birthday girl,” he said, pointing at the Jukebox at the corner.

“You make the invitation, you pick the song.”

“Oh, is that a yes then?” he asked her, smirking.

“No, I was just stating a fact, I can’t dance.”

He sighed, walking toward the jukebox. “I can’t either, who cares?” She watched him out of the corner of her eye. “How does this trap work?” She tried to hold back a smile. “It’s a modern Jukebox, I know the concept of modern is probably inconceivable for you, but it has a Bluetooth connection, you type a song in the searching bar and it finds it.”

“Fancy!” he said unimpressed. “I’m waiting, Birthday girl.”

She sighed, walking until she stopped in front of him. He put his arms around her, resting his palms on her back and she circled his neck. She held her breath while an acoustic version of “Take on me”, she had never heard before, started playing. “An ‘80 ballad, you’re really that old?”

“Hush Blur, I’m trying to save your Birthday.”

“Or make it worse.”

He laughed and she took a step closer. “Your sweater is soaking,” she said.

“Fuck, sorry.” He removed it, staying in a tight, black t-shirt. “Better?”

She wasn’t sure. “You didn’t need to do that.”

He smelled nice, the tips of his hair had curled due to the rain, she brushed them with her fingers at every swing of her body. One of his hand kept sliding across her back, leaving goosebumps on its way. She cleared her throat. “It wouldn’t be nice if someone saw us like this. You’re still my Professor.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, no one in their right minds would enter in this Bar willingly.”

“Ok, bye,” she said, extracting herself from his arms.

“Wait, wait,” he said, laughing. “I was kidding, the modern Jukebox is a win for sure.” He pulled her in his arms again, this time there was only a little space between them. “I think this is the part when I tell you something nice,” he whispered against her temple.

“I probably wouldn’t believe it.”

He sighed. “Don’t crush my heart, Blur, let me try.” They danced in silence for some seconds, until he did try. “You’re a great photographer, you know that, don’t you?”

She retreated a little to look at him, but she didn’t find mockery in his eyes. “What is this, a birthday gift?”

“No, I just mean it.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

He chuckled in her ear and she felt chills along her spine. “Happy Birthday, Brienne.”

* * *

He took her home then, ignoring her protests. There wasn’t any chivalry behind his gesture, he simply didn’t want to let her go. She lived close to the Bar, so they walked to her apartment, their arms didn’t brush at every step, they were glued together, their shoulders touching. If he had taken her hand in that moment, it would have felt natural. It had stopped raining and the temperature had dropped considerably, making them walk faster and, possibly, keeping their bodies even closer. She kept laughing at every stupid thing he was saying, blame the second glass of Whisky they had shared after their dance, and the sound was as new as addicting. Besides, her eyes sparkled every time she laughed and it was like staring into a new-born galaxy.

“Here we are,” she said, stopping in front of a red door and turning toward him. Her nose was red too for the cold and puffs of mist came out every time she spoke, while he suddenly didn’t know what to say. “I.. well this was fun, unexpected.”

She laughed again and he took a step closer. “Don’t worry, we’ll forget about all of this tomorrow, I’m always your student after all and besides, you don’t even like me.”

“I don’t even like you?”

She snorted, shaking her head. “No, you don’t.”

“Do you really think that?”

“Of course you don’t like me, the same way I don’t like you.”

It should have hurt, but her smile suggested him she didn’t believe in that lie herself. “And why is that?” He raised his hand for a moment, overwhelmed by the need to touch her, but he was still hesitant.

“Well, first, you don’t know my name.. and second, you keep looking at me.”

“I don’t keep looking at you, Brienne.”

“You do, you keep staring at me during lessons.”

“And you don’t like that, do you?” he asked her.

It started snowing then, rich snowflakes were everywhere in the air. They created a strange pattern together with the freckles on her face. He could finally see them this close. “It’s snowing,” she whispered while looking up, smiling in wonder.

She was looking at the sky, but he couldn’t stop looking at her. When she finally met his gaze, he realized her eyes were even prettier under the snow. It was that thought that made him reach out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “Maybe I look at you because I like the way you look at me.”

“I don’t look at you.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

Her stubbornness made him smile and he lingered with his fingers on her cheek.

“I should go,” she said, clearing her throat.

He nodded. "Of course. Good night."

"Night."

He looked at her go, waiting for her to be safe inside.

He reluctantly let her go home, even if, from that moment, she started living in his mind rent-free.

  


He spent the weekend thinking of her.

After years of self-imposed solitude, solitude started losing its charm. He suddenly felt a blossoming need that made him want to get closer to her, to mingle among her purity and exceptional nature, to hear her soothing voice talking about her life, his life, everything. He had tried knowing her through her pictures, but somehow, blame her secrecy, it hadn’t been enough. He wanted to know more, to see her more, to touch her again. He was her Professor, but that thought didn’t make him want her any less. The Master program would have been over soon and besides, she could switch and go with Tully instead and, at that point, he could pretend that leaving her in the hands of another mentor wasn’t a hard sacrifice to make. However, he was dreaming of dinners and dates with her, while she still looked at him like her old and insufferable Professor. And if a part of him wanted to change her opinion and weaken her reluctance, another one seemed unable to make the last necessary step.

  


When he saw her at lesson that day, it took just a look at her to realize that there was still a wall between them, even thicker than before, their previous intimacy already forgotten, she had promised him that, while he just wished it had lasted more.

And yet, when she walked toward the door at the end of the lesson, he couldn’t help but find an excuse to stop her.

“How is it going?” he suddenly asked her. She looked at him hesitantly, while he lost himself in her blush. “With the new assignment, I mean.”

“Actually, I think I have something,” she said, the flicker in her eyes was addicting, he had to hold back a smile.

“Show me.”

“So, last night I was walking along the pedestrian street, you know, the one next to the Bar I work, there’s an old overpass at the end,” she said.

“You shouldn’t go alone late at night in that place.”

She frowned, surprised by his outburst. “I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can.”

“Anyway, you know that place?” 

Actually, he spent the majority of his nights in that place with a spray can in his hand, but she couldn’t know that. “Go on.”

“Well, I was walking and you know, last week you told us the most important thing about street photography is the ability of being patient, and how crucial is to wait and persevere until something happens.”

“Oh, you do listen to me, Blur, I’m impressed.”

“Of course I do,” she said indignantly, “well, suddenly, under the overpass, I saw a man or better an artist, he seemed a man judging from the body size but again, I seem a man too, judging from my size, so it’s not really a telling fact.” She smiled shyly and he had to put his hands in his pockets not to touch her. “Anyway, let’s say he was a man, he was a street artist for sure, he was drawing and I couldn’t help but take a pic. You told us to use the shadows and play with the lights and the moon yesterday was beautiful and so bright.. I don’t know, I just took some pics.” She handed him the pics and for a brief moment he could discern a stain of green paint on her wrist. She must have noticed his gaze, because she quickly fixed her sweater to cover the exposed skin. He looked at the first picture, already knowing what he would have found. It was a pic of him while he was drawing on the wall under the old overpass. It was incredible, the natural illumination sublime, the way she had worked with different dimensions impressive, but most of all, the pic told him a story and the fact that he was the subject of that story made his chest tighten in a strange way.

He looked at her.

“Tell me something, please,” she said nervously.

 _I want to kiss you._ “How did you get this layering here?” he asked her instead.

“I exposed two negatives together repeatedly.”

There was silence after that.

“Come to my opening, tomorrow,” he blurted out.

She almost choked in response. “What?”

“My opening, tomorrow night, I’ll expose some stuff, nothing big, really.”

“Yeah, I know about your exposition.. but..”

“Lion Gallery, at seven. Come, I’d like that.”

She glanced briefly at him and he held her gaze, “I thought it was an exclusive event.”

“Oh, it is,” he said, smirking. “But you’re my student.” The notion of her being his somehow gave him a thrill of pleasure and his fingers moved on their own accord, fixing the shoulder strap of her bag.

She looked down, playing with her sweater. “I don’t know.. I mean, is there anyone else from class or..”

“No.”

“No?” she asked him. “Why?”

“Because I don’t care about anyone else from class?”

“Then why me? You don’t even like me.”

He didn’t hide his exasperation, they were still at that point apparently, every progress he thought they had made had been swept away by a single question. He was irritated by her attitude, he couldn’t accept their time spent together at her birthday hadn’t changed her perception about him.

“Whatever, I.. I’ll be there,” she eventually said.

“Good, I keep this,” he said, tapping his fingers on the desk and putting her picture in his bag. Her resistance was making him nervous, but when he looked up and met her eyes, he felt calm again. “You can bring with you who you want tomorrow,” he said, “a friend, your neighbour, a room-mate if you have one..a dog, or I don’t know, a boyfriend? Girlfriend? I mean if you have one.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure,” he said. “So, do you have one?”

She frowned and he held his breath. “Ok, forget that,” he suddenly didn’t want to know it. “See you tomorrow.”

She was almost at the door when he said: “Oh, Blur?”

She looked at him.

He glanced briefly at her Polka dot sweater and then smirked. “Wear something nice.”

* * *

The morning after, at dawn, she walked along the pedestrian street to distract herself from the upcoming night. She smiled, taking a look at the wall. After seeing Gold, even if from afar, she felt closer to him. They had picked up a habit, Gold and she, they had started completing each other’s drawings. Gold had been the first doing it and Brienne had been annoyed at first, until the game had become funny and it was somehow exciting turning the corner to find what was waiting for her. She had painted an eye at the centre of the wall two days before, a green eye, the colour absolutely casual, but she had found out Gold had turned it into a blue one. She shook her head amused, taking a spray can from her bag.

  


_Wear something nice._

He was still insufferable, nothing new, but she hadn’t missed that hint of admiration when he had looked at her picture; he had also invited her to his opening, that couldn’t be irrilevant. It wasn’t even irrelevant the way her heart had jumped in her chest when he had started playing with the strap of the bag on her shoulder. She was sure he hadn’t meant anything with that, yet she couldn’t stop thinking about his fingers on her sweater. And when she was in front of her wardrobe that afternoon, she ignored the fact that a small part of her was trying to pick something nice with the illusion to impress him somehow, because a woman like her wasn’t made to impress men, but to scare them away. However her black top, she had never worn before, had a deep neckline that betrayed a small glimmer of hope. She wore it with black, tight jeans and a jacket. She even tried to tie her hair in that studied, messy bun that made women look effortlessly gorgeous.

She looked effortlessly unkempt.

The Lion Gallery was full of people, people extremely out of her world. When she entered in the place she felt like she didn’t belong there and while the warmth lured her inside, relieving her icy cheeks, her feet seemed unable to move. They were all ridiculously beautiful in their tailor made suits and elegant dresses, a flute of Champagne in hand, laughing casually for something she was sure it wasn’t that funny, only two people in the whole room were actually looking at the pictures. Brienne glanced around, looking for Jaime, but he was nowhere in sight. She shouldn’t have accepted his invitation, she wasn’t made for events like that. She was wearing black, flat shoes and worn-out jeans, without mentioning the heavy coat that made her shoulders seem even broader, while around her they were all models in mini dresses and high heels. She felt a deep sense of discomfort that almost brought tears to her eyes and without thinking twice, she turned around, walking toward the exit door. Only then she felt a hand circling her wrist, warm fingers on her skin.

“You’re here.”

She turned around and Jaime was there, breathing hard and smiling at her. She took some seconds to properly look at him. He was wearing a dark grey suit with a cream-white turtle-neck underneath. He was gorgeous, yet his beauty didn’t make her uncomfortable.

“Are you leaving, Blur?”

He seemed genuinely sad at the prospect. “I.. no, I’m just..”

“Give me your coat.”

“No, it’s ok, I don’t plan to stay long.”

He frowned and she regretted her rudeness. The truth was she didn’t want to impose him her presence, her inadequacy was a burden that he shouldn’t have to deal with. “Well, come with me, I want to show you something.”

He was still holding her wrist, but she grabbed his arm to stop him. “Wait!”

He turned, surprised. She suddenly noticed there was a mistletoe hung above their heads, Jaime followed her gaze upside and then smiled at her. He glanced briefly at her lips, but she interrupted his train of thoughts.

“Is this.. is this ok?”

She unfastened her coat to show him her outfit, the sudden air covered the exposed skin of her v-neckline in goosebumps. She glanced down shyly to avoid his gaze, fearing what she could have found there, but when she looked up, seconds later, he was staring at her in a way she couldn’t quite catch. If she had been delusional, she would have call it wonder.

“It’s ok,” he eventually said. “It’s really ok, very ok.”

That diminished her anxiety a little bit, so she left his arm, but he didn’t leave her wrist. If she hadn’t wanted to attract attentions, walking almost hand in hand with the star of the evening wasn’t the greatest idea, but he had a strange habit lately to act like they were the only two people in the room.

“Look!” he said, pointing at the wall.

She smiled for the first time that evening. “You exposed them.”

He mirrored her smile. “I did. Someone told me they were actually very good.”

“They are,” she said, closing the distance to give a closer look. “This one is my favourite.”

It was a picture taken on a boat, two lovers in the foreground smiling at each other and a frowning man, deep in thoughts, sitting in the front seats. The way he had played with shadows and lights was breathtaking.

“That one?” he asked, surprised. “Why, are you a romantic, Blur?”

She snorted. “I would probably play the part of that man over there.”

He laughed, but his laughter wasn’t cruel.

He led her through the whole exposition then, explaining every single picture, telling her an anecdote for every one of them. His eyes were bright, his smile rarely left his face. Brienne tried to ignore the amount of times he had grabbed her sleeve to call her attention or the times she had felt his fingers lingering on her skin, his voice whispering stupid jokes in her ear, every time his eyes had hesitated a little longer on her cleavage.

“What?” he asked her while she was studying a group of black and white pictures portraying several half naked models.

“These are.. intense.”

He chuckled. “Yes, I suppose they are.”

“I could never take pictures like that.”

“Why is that?”

She shrugged. “They’re too intimate.”

“Intimate?”

“Well, I mean.. look at those models.”

“Yeah, I know them.”

“Of course you do,” she said under her breath.

“Ah, what is that, Blur?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Ask me what you’re dying to ask me, come on.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The answer is no, I didn’t fuck them, any of them.”

She was sure she had become impossibly red. “That’s not what I wanted to know.”

He ignored her. “If I'm interested in a woman, Brienne, I want to fuck her, I don’t want to photograph her.”

“Good, I’m not interested.”

“Besides, I never fucked with a woman I photographed.”

“I’m not interested in that either.”

He grinned in that way that irritated her once, but now made her want to slam his body against the wall. “Are you sure about that?” he asked her smugly. “I would never photograph you, anyway.”

She also ignored the allusion behind that, he was just messing with her, nothing more.

When she thought the tour was over, he surprised her once again. “There’s the last part, the guests' corner.”

A lot of artists used to do that, they reserved a part of their exposition to show pictures made by other artists, usually emerging talents that shared a special connection with them. But even knowing that, her heart started thundering in her chest when she saw her last assignment hung on the wall. It was the picture portraying the street artist, her name was on a piece of paper next to it.

“Jaime..”

She looked at him, her vision blurred and she found in his eyes the same emotion. She realized it was the first time she had called him by his name. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, your picture was too beautiful, I had to expose it.”

She couldn’t contain her smile then, it grew bigger every passing second, until she seemed to finally realize the meaning behind his gesture. “You really think I’m a good photographer.”

“I really do.”

“It’s my picture,” she whispered.

“It is.”

“Exposed in one of the most important Galleries in King’s Landing.”

He chuckled, closing the distance between them. She felt his laughter vibrating in her ear, his body behind her back, almost touching it, and for a moment she wanted to lean against him and spend the night hearing his voice whispering nonsense against her hair. “Thank you,” she said, still looking at the picture.

“I'm the one who should be thanking you," he said back. She turned at his words and he glanced briefly at her lips for the second time that night. For a bunch of seconds the urge to close the distance and kiss him in front of everyone almost took her breath away.

“Lannister?”

They both turned, finding Randyll Tarly, the rector of King’s Landing institute.

“Rector!” Jaime called him. “What a pleasure!” Brienne didn’t miss the sarcasm in his voice.

“Congratulations for the show,” he said flatly.

“It’s an exposition.”

“Oh I can see that,” Tarly said, glancing at Brienne. “Do we know each other?”

“Brienne Tarth, my student and a brilliant photographer,” Jaime said and she held back a smile.

“Nice to meet you, Sir.”

“Tarth.. oh, that Tarth?”

Brienne frowned. “Do you know me, Sir?”

“Oh well, Lannister here did quite a number to get you in.”

“What are you talk-”

“Nothing, really,” Jaime said, interrupting her. "He's exaggerating." 

“Oh come on, don’t be modest now,” Tarly said, while Jaime just shrugged, excusing himself when his assistant called him to set his upcoming speech.

When she was about to leave, Tarly started speaking again. “I didn’t want you in my institute, Miss Tarth, you know that, don’t you? Your portfolio was a bunch of juvenile and pathetic attempts to be artistic. But Lannister.. oh, Lannister didn’t shut up a second about it.”

“Different views,” Brienne said.

“It wasn’t just that, though, was it?”

Brienne glanced at Jaime, but he was too far.

“He asked around about you, you know that? He called Catelyn Stark.. made questions..”

“Catelyn Stark was my teacher and referent, of course he called her, it was written down on my presentation.”

“Yeah, but Catelyn told him everything about you.. how much poor Brienne had struggled in Winterfell, no social life, no friends at all.. and then that tragic loss.”

Brienne’s throat tightened. “What are you talking about?”

“Lannister told me he had learnt your father had just died, that you were left alone and with a stack of debts on your back. He told me he pitied you too much not to give you the only scholarship available.”

Brienne felt her heart beat faster. “That’s not true.”

“You know, at the beginning I thought it was just a way to clear his conscience, but I must say..” Tarly started again. “I see that you two get along quite well, maybe a little too much for my experience, it wasn’t that surprising to see one of your pictures on that wall.” He closed the distance between them to whisper in her ear. “Has he already fucked you or is he waiting for a big thank-you gift tonight?”

“You’re sick,” she whispered.

Jaime chose that moment to glance at her from the opposite corner, the smile he gave her warmed her inside and for a moment she wanted to ignore Tarly’s words and lose herself in him, like nothing had happened. But Brienne was used to gain disappointments from men, to hear courtesies in her face and mockeries behind her back, _Jaime had been different, though._ A small voice kept saying her, _he has been honest with you, even brutal, since the first time._

But when he walked in her direction, after a last glance at him, she left the Gallery, suddenly feeling her legs weak and her throat tightening.

“Blur, wait!”

_Why was he following her?_ Men didn’t usually follow her, they were sure to stay well out of her way.

She tried to keep at bay the angry tears. “What do you want?”

“What did he tell you?” he asked her, his breathing accelerated.

“It’s not important,” She lied, resuming her walking.

“Please, tell me.”

She stopped at that, turning to meet his eyes. “He told me how you pitied me from the start, that’s why you chose me.”

“What?!”

"All that bullshit about me being a good photographer was a lie. I was a fool to believe it."

"Hold on a second, wh-"

“Good luck for the speech, Professor.”

“Brienne, wait.” Right in that moment his assistant came out searching for him and Brienne took advantage from the distraction to walk away.

  


She went to the wall two nights in a row after that, trying to shut down her mind and find comfort in that new game she and Gold were playing but both times she hadn't found new drawings by Gold.

She had kept drawing alone, though, absurdly waiting for Gold to arrive.

* * *

She hadn’t come to lesson the week after the opening. Jaime hadn’t been surprised, but he had kept looking around, waiting in vain for her pale hair and long legs to appear on the threshold anyway. Her absence was starting to hurt him, he had developed a strange need to physically have her close. Brienne wasn’t a woman of many words, yet her presence had filled him like no one else before. Even her silences could be unwieldy, while her eyes had the power to keep him anchored to the ground, but make his mind travel nonetheless.

He wanted to find her, to talk to her, but the fear of being rejected made him unable to do that.

It was one particular night, a week after their last meeting, when he saw her. It was chilly, a snowstorm would have started soon, he could feel it in his bones. When he walked to the old overpass, finding her in front of his wall, he felt his heart in his throat. Aftera few seconds of amazement, he wasn’t that surprised to find her there. He had started suspecting she was Blue from the stain of paint on her wrist, without mentioning the picture of him she had taken in that place.

She was drawing something, in deep concentration, while her hair, messed by the wind, kept obscuring her features, making her face fading in and out of view.

Despite that, he would have recognized her everywhere.

“That is my wall,” he blurted out.

She was startled by his voice, the spray can slipped from her hand. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

When he met her eyes, he couldn’t help but smile. “I could ask you the same.”

“You’re Gold?” she asked, brows furrowing in confusion.

“And you’re Blue.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Then listen.”

He took a step to close the distance, but she retreated against the wall.

“It was a bad day when your letter came,” he started. “One second I was in an epic fight with my father and the second after I was crying my eyes out with your portfolio in my hands. Your pictures seized me the second I put my eyes on them, your captions fascinated me, your letter spoke to me like no one else and yet there was something I couldn’t catch, it must have been all that blurring.”

“Why did you ask Catelyn?”

“Because you fascinated me and I wanted to solve the puzzle, I wanted to have a confirmation I had finally found something extraordinary, someone extraordinary. I called her, that’s true, and she talked to me about you and the more she talked about you, the more I was trying to build an image of you in my head, but I couldn’t, you were still blurred, like your pictures.”

“How did you imagine me?”

“Beautiful.”

“It must have been disappointing to meet me in person.”

“On the contrary, it was revealing,” he whispered. “A look at you made me reconsider the whole concept of beauty.”

She snorted and he took another step toward her. “But you hated me at first.”

She wasn’t convinced, two deep furrows were nestling between her eyebrows, he wanted to soothe her skin to make them disappear.

“Catelyn told me about your life, that’s true, she told me about your dad, but I had already decided the scholarship would have been yours, nothing could have changed that,” He held her gaze, but she glanced down. “You told me I hated you at first, the truth is, I was thrilled to meet you.. but then you asked me to change class and believe me, that was a deep wound for my ego, Blur.”

“Brienne.”

“Brienne,” he sighed. “Your mail pissed me off, I've tried to encourage you for more from the first day, I’ve been insufferable, that’s true, but you were too good and I reached a point where irritating you was my favourite pastime.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure,” he said, smiling. “It was a game at the beginning, but then I started thinking of you outside the class, wondering how did you spend your time, if someone else was making you blush like I used to or calling you with stupid nicknames. I started thinking about your ugly polka dot sweaters, about your ridiculous legs that didnt’t give me peace. But most of all, I fell asleep seeing your eyes, your eyes followed me everywhere.”

“I.. I don’t understand.”

“I tried to stay away, I really tried, but the more I tried, the more I came up with stupid reasons to keep you close, to touch you.”

“Jaime..”

“So, don’t tell me that I pitied you Brienne, because what I’m feeling for you right now is very far from pity.”

A snowflake fell from the sky, followed by another and then another more. He was the one looking up this time, but when he glanced at her, he found out her eyes were still on him. There was a peculiar light that made them even more astonishing.

“I saw how happy you were in there, seeing your picture in that Gallery.”

“I was.”

“And I thought, God, do I have anything to do with that? Because that.. that would make me happy.”

“You did.”

He smiled brightly and she smiled back. “What now?” she asked shyly.

He burst out laughing at that, he had just poured his heart out to her and she was asking him, "what now"? “Usually, after a declaration like this, I'd close the distance between us, I'd take your face in my hands and kiss you senselessly until your knees go weak, but you stole my wall, I don’t think I’m able to go past that.”

“It wasn’t your wall.”

“It is my wall,” he said, taking a final step toward her and brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. The snow kept falling down and the cold was making the tip of her nose red in a familiar way. He kissed it, resting his forehead against hers.

“I saw it first,” she whispered.

“I saw you first,” he said, framing her face. When he noticed she was glancing at his lips, he got up on tip toes to kiss her.

The sweetness lasted a bunch of seconds, fast replaced by pure and unmistakable need. Her lips were chapped, but warm and when she opened them to let him in, he pressed her body against the wall. Her arms circled his back, pulling him closer and he sighed in her mouth. He couldn’t stop seeking her tongue and every time the kiss was about to end, they both deepened it again, burying their fingers in each other's hair. They were both breathless when he retreated, caressing her brows, her cheeks, with the tip of his fingers, like he was memorizing her face.

“We can’t do this,” she whispered.

“Why not?”

“I’m your student, Jaime.”

“Oh, they didn’t tell you, did they?” he asked her smugly. “You changed class due to work commitments, Professor Tully is thrilled to have you.”

She laughed and he pulled at her scarf to kiss her lips. “You did not.”

“I did.”

He was about to kiss her again when she interrupted him. “I don't want to be in the same institute with Tarly."

"We'll fix that too, I promise you."

She smiled. "Jaime?"

"Brienne?" 

"I think the paint is still fresh.”

He laughed then, turning them so he was the one pressed against the wall. “I don’t fucking care.”

After minutes spent making out, he felt her body tremble in his arms, while his erection was tightening his jeans. “Let’s go in my car," he said seductively in her ear.

“Really, your car?” she chuckled.

“Do you want me to fuck you here against this wall? I would.”

She blushed adorably, hiding her face in his neck and for a moment he wanted to spend the whole night like that, at the cost of being buried by the snow. “Let’s go,” he said, taking her hand.

Once arrived at the car he pressed her against the driver’s door, kissing senselessly again, his hands exploring under her coat, their legs interlaced. “Let’s go inside.”

“We can’t make out inside.”

“Why not?”

“I’m too big.”

He shrugged. “My car is bigger.”

He opened the driver’s door and pulled back the seat. He sat down, waiting for her. “Come here,” he said, extending his hand. She laughed, shaking her head. “Jaime, we won’t fit.”

He grabbed her arm, pulling her in. They both laughed when she tried straddling him on the seat. Then he helped her with her coat. “I can’t fucking believe it,” he said, glaring at her sweater.

“Stop bullying my polka dot sweaters,” she said.

“Oh believe me, I spent nights thinking about fucking you wearing nothing but one of these ugly things.” She hid her face in his neck again, he was becoming addicted to that, and he sneaked his hands under the sweater, finding her skin. She hissed, “Jaime, your hands are cold.”

“I’m warming them,” he whispered in her ear while he started caressing her, inch by inch, deepening the pressure where she was warmer. She was holding her breath at the sensation, when his fingers stopped under her breasts. When he looked up, waiting for a sign from her, the way her eyes darkened took his breath away. He palmed her naked breasts, she hadn’t bothered with a bra and the sensation of feeling her nipples hardening under his fingers, made him seek her mouth again. She kept her hands around his face, driving him insane with the urge of feeling her touch elsewhere, on his body. When he tugged at her jeans, lowering the zip, she stilled.

He was an idiot, ha had been blinded by the need to have her and now he was rushing it. “I’m sorry, I just want you so fucking much, I can’t think straight right now.”

She surprised him then, taking his hand and guiding it in her panties. She was so warm, his fingers slid along her slit and he wanted to spend the night giving her pleasure like that, slowly exploring her, guided by her whimpers. When he slipped one finger inside, watching her brows furrowing in pleasure, he raised her sweater to close his mouth around a nipple. His movements were slow, delicate, but when he felt her moans in his ear, he increased his pace; his mouth blew on her wet nipple, while her lips shuddered on his neck. He was giving attention to the other nipple, sucking it, when she pulled at his hair and met his mouth to kiss him fiercely. He knew her orgasm was close and he bit her lips, resting his palm against her clit. She was restless, rubbing against his hand and he was so turned on, for a moment he feared he was about to come in his pants.

“Please, touch me,” he suddenly said. “I need you to touch me.” She seemed not to know what to do at first, until she pressed her hand on his erection and he moaned, stopping his hand in her panties. She touched him again, unzipping his pants. “Do you have a condom?” she asked him shyly.

He kissed her cheek, caressing her hair. “We don’t have to do it here, I can wait.”

“I can’t,” she said, shifting to take off her jeans and underwear.

He looked at her and it could had been the way the moonlight was hitting the dashboard, making her skin glowing, or her body pressed against the passenger window while she was focused on her movements, looking so determinate, her eyes so dark, but he knew in that moment that he had never wanted anyone, like that, in his whole life. He reluctantly took his eyes off her, reaching for the only condom he had in his wallet, lowering his boxers and putting it on. She was looking at him from the passenger seat and when he turned, feeling her gaze on him, she looked down shyly. She was wearing only the ugly sweater that ended at her mid thighs. “You can look at me,” he said, voice hoarse.

He reached out then, grabbing a piece of her sweater and then raising it to expose her sex, she was covered in goosebumps and freckles. She was breathing hard, stains of blush coloured her skin. He was so blinded by the desire, that, for a moment, his vision seemed blurred. “Come here,” he begged her. “Fuck me.”

She reached him, straddling his body, no laughs this time, and they both stilled when she took him inside. They didn’t move at first and he gathered her hair in one of his hand, while the other covered her head to repair it from the car’s roof. When she started, her movements were controlled, but firm and he had to restrain himself not to thrust up inside her. He was at her mercy and she was the one setting the pace. He pulled her toward his lips, his tongue exploring slowly inside her mouth, the roof was scratching his knuckles at every thrust, but he didn’t care. His tongue followed the pace of her thrusts, while suddenly her fingers sneaked under his shirt, nails deep in his skin but gentle, he was the one whimpering in her mouth. When he left her lips, feeling closer, he licked her neck, biting her earlobe and feeling her trembling in his arms, her walls contracting around his erection. “Come,” he whispered in her ear and they both did together, trembling against each other.

He searched for her face, caressing her skin, already trying to find a sign of regret there, but she rested her forehead against his, smiling and he felt his heart burst.

“I want to fuck you again,” he said. “And again and again until you’ll let me.”

She laughed. “Technically I’ve been the one fucking you.” She blushed once her words came out and he didn’t know if hearing those words coming from her was more adorable of arousing, while he felt his cock stirring again. “Come home with me.”

She bit her lip nervously and he sucked the spot she had just bitten. “Ok.”

“At one condition, though.”

“What is it?”

“Once you’re inside, you can never leave.”

She snorted and he kissed her again.

  


  


_Christmas day._

When he had taken her home that first night, she had asked him where it was his Christmas tree.

He had explained to her that he didn’t feel like celebrating at Christmas, that his Christmas, growing up, had always been filled by expensive gifts and high quality dishes, the tree had been usually decorated by their maid and there had never been carols or board games after lunch. Jaime remembered how his father insisted on him reciting a poem standing on a chair, challenging his dyslexia that made almost impossible to him to memorize even the shortest lines. He remembered how he lived those days terrorized by the prospect of disappointing him.

Brienne had told him about her Christmas in Tarth, how, every year, they used to draw a ticket from a bowl to decide the colour of the decorations and they drank hot chocolate watching the boats coming home for the Holidays. She told him how she used to light two lanterns every Eve, one for her brother Galladon and one for her mother; her father helped her with the lighter when she was little, but they had kept the habit even when she had grown up. Jaime had gave her a new lantern the night before Christmas, for her father, and her wobbling chin, once opened the gift, had been his favourite present.

She had given him a horrible polka dot sweater, he had loved it immensely.

That morning she had come at his house whit a tree under her arm, a sack full of Christmas balls under the other. While she was decorating the tree for him, he had been busy making hot chocolate for them. When he had found her sprawled on the carpet of his living room, trying to choose the best decoration for his tree, brows furrowed in concentration, he had been so overwhelmed by her presence, he had reached her on the floor, tugging at her ankle and making her lay down under his body. He had kissed her until he had felt her tremble under him, her blush expanding in stains everywhere on her face and neck, then he had given her pleasure with his tongue, while she arched between the Christmas balls scattered on the carpet, fingers buried in his hair. 

A little profane, but delicious.

Later Jaime had burnt the turkey, while she had made perfect little cupcakes, the frosting decorated wonderfully. He had cooled down his frustration making love to her against the kitchen counter, her hands covered in flour leaving traces everywhere, on his skin, in his hair and on his shirt for all the times she had pressed her fingertips on his back begging him to go faster. When she had come, face hidden in his neck, lips warm on his skin, he had felt his heart melt. And while he kept making up in his mind different ways to tell her he had fallen in love with her, but no one seemed quite enough, she had surprised him, once again, asking him to take a picture together.

“I thought we could..” she said nervously, showing her Reflex.

Jaime swallowed, feeling tears blurring his vision, because a small gesture like that could mean nothing for a person grown in a house full of love, but for an affection seeker like him meant the world. There had never been family pictures for him and while he sat in front of the tree and Brienne set the camera, he knew this could have become his favourite tradition, their tradition.

“Why are you doing all this?” he asked her.

“You saved my Birthday, Jaime, I’m saving your Christmas.”

He chuckled. “Come here.”

She reached him in front of the tree, the tree she had made for him. He poked her sides twice to make her laugh and then tightened his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder. When the countdown of the self-timer started, he suddenly realized he couldn’t wait anymore; the red flashing light seemed to talk directly to him, encouraging him to take the last step.

5

4

3

2

1

“I love you, Blur.”

She turned, her chin wobbling, heart in her eyes and the Camera clicked.

The picture was a disaster, the light was all wrong and yet somehow it was perfect. Their sweaters were an eyesore and none of them was looking at the camera. They were looking at each other, and while Jaime was grinning with wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, Brienne was in wonder, red cheeks and eyes huge, but most of all, her face wasn’t blurred.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy new year, lots of love. 💞


End file.
